


A Day By Atmosphere Supreme

by tookumade



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 23:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12617652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tookumade/pseuds/tookumade
Summary: Suna thinks that it’s maybe in this split-second, in this moment, that he realises he’s found someone he’d like to try to give the world to, if it could somehow make him laugh like that again.





	A Day By Atmosphere Supreme

**Author's Note:**

> what's up folks i have slam-dunked myself straight back into rarepair hell also what the heck is this
> 
>  
> 
> [Feb 4th, 2018 note] Just FYI, this was written before we found out that Suna and Osamu are actually in the same class. Can you imagine how much more complicated that would've made this damn fic??? Yeah I don't wanna think about it either my pals _(:3 」∠)＿

It’s not like Osamu doesn’t ever smile, but compared to Atsumu, he’s still not that much of a smiler. Atsumu smiles enough for the both of them, and, yeah, they have almost identical faces, but it’s really not the same.  
  
They’re at a weekend training camp towards the end of summer of their second year, it’s still hot and humid, they’d just finished training for the day, and they’d all gotten into a water fight outside. Atsumu—because he is Atsumu—douses Osamu with a hose he has somehow managed to get his hands on; Osamu rockets off after him, seeking revenge, impressively undeterred by Atsumu trying to hose him away. The whole time, Osamu has a little smile on his face, but it’s more exasperated than anything. Atsumu eventually yells his surrender when Osamu grabs him in a headlock, and they wrestle for a bit.  
  
And then Osamu looks up, seeing Suna grinning in amusement as he watches them. He reaches slowly for the hose Atsumu had dropped, whilst maintaining eye contact the whole time—  
  
Suna, suddenly realising that he’s been targeted, sprints away, and Osamu runs after him. Suna thinks he can hear Osamu _laughing_ , and chances a look over his shoulder. This slightest slowing down costs him, and he gets a faceful of water for his troubles, but not before he sees Osamu grinning wide, and Suna thinks that it’s maybe in this split-second, in this moment, that he realises he’s found someone he’d like to try to give the world to, if it could somehow make him laugh like that again.  
  
The thought is so sudden that Suna is thrown off guard a second time, but he’s being attacked with water and can’t stop for a moment to catch up with his brain. It’s only when a member of the coaching staff calls for them to stop and get changed into dry clothes so they can have dinner, and Ginjima runs to turn off the hose, that Osamu ceases his one-sided victory and reverts back to his default deadpan face. Everyone’s laughing and teasing each other as they trundle back to their sleeping quarters. Suna flings excess water at Osamu, who ducks in vain.  
  
Dinner is as normal—loud and messy, but always quickly cleaned up under Kita’s watchful eye. The second years talk about anything that comes to mind, and Suna still doesn’t have time to properly think. After dinner, when it comes to the second years’ turn to bathe, Ginjima and Atsumu get into a another water fight, only stopped when Kita pokes his head into the room to give them a powerfully disapproving stare-down.  
  
It’s in the quiet of beckoning sleep a while later, amongst the futons and blankets and snoring teammates and owls hooting softly in the distance, that Suna finally has a moment of peace. Osamu’s sleeping in the futon next to him, right at the end of their row; on the very opposite end is Atsumu—Osamu, as he does every training camp, had point-blank refused to sleep anywhere near to him for some reason. Neither of them have ever explained this, but everyone just puts it down to typical brotherly bickering.  
  
As Suna lies awake, he feels warm, and he’s quite sure that half the reason is completely unrelated to the weather. He keeps thinking about that water fight outside, about Osamu’s laughter ringing clear through the summer air, about that sudden wish to be able to give him more than Suna could ever imagine.  
  
He chances a look over at Osamu; he’s sleeping on his side, facing away from him. A small part of Suna wants to poke him awake and ask him what makes him happy, what makes him _laugh_ , but the more reasonable part of Suna reminds himself that it’s been a long day, they’ve trained hard from morning until late afternoon, and that it’s time to get some rest.  
  
Suna turns onto his other side, away from Osamu, and doesn’t think much else of it for the rest of the training camp. The warm feeling doesn’t leave him, but it’s probably just the weather after all. And the fact that it only happens when he looks at Osamu or thinks about his laugh, is… a coincidence. Probably.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
It’s lunchtime, and Suna tracks down Osamu in his classroom, sits down in the seat in front of his desk, and places a bottle of orange juice by his elbow. Osamu looks up from his lunch with raised eyebrows.  
  
“When you came into school today,” Suna begins to explain, “the look on your face said that Atsumu ate something of yours that you were looking forward to. I know orange juice probably isn’t going to make up for it, but just go with it, okay? I didn’t have enough coins for anything nicer, so it was either orange juice, or that crappy new berry-flavoured… thing.”  
  
Osamu snorts and one corner of his lips twitches into a half-smile. “You didn’t need to do that.”  
  
“Of course I did,” says Suna. “If you’re pissed at Atsumu, then you’re going to keep aiming your serves at him during volleyball practice, meaning you’ll probably hit his face at some point, and when _that_ happens, Kita-san always sends _me_ to look after him until he’s ready to train again, and I don’t think I need to tell you how much of a pain _that_ is.”  
  
Osamu’s smile widens, and Suna can’t help but feel a little pleased, like it’s a victory he didn’t really know he was looking for. “He really should be sending Gin instead.”  
  
“I think so, too. But I also think Gin suffers enough. Kita-san probably knows it.”  
  
“True.” Osamu takes the orange juice and uncaps it. “Thanks.”  
  
“Just promise me you’ll be in a better mood for training.”  
  
“You know who my brother is—you _know_ I can’t promise that.”  
  
“Maybe it’ll be easier if I lock him up in a storage room…”  
  
“Aw, you take such good care of me, Suna,” says Osamu, deadpan. “Be careful, or I’m gonna end up falling for you.”  
  
Suna’s heart skips a beat, and he forces himself not to react. He raises his eyebrows. “Give that back.”  
  
“Too late,” says Osamu, taking a sip and leaning back to dodge when Suna swipes half-heartedly at him.  
  
It’s unfair, Suna thinks—he had been completely unprepared for that. When Osamu finishes his sip, he pulls the bottle from his mouth so he can smirk at him, and that’s completely unfair, too. Suna shakes his head in mock-disgust and looks away.  
  
He may have made a mistake. He has probably made a mistake, if his speeding heart rate is any indication.  
  
(Osamu is indeed in a better mood at volleyball practice, and only aims a few of his serves at Atsumu, who quickly notices and yells, “ _All right, all right, I’ll buy you more strawberry milk Kit-Kats!”_ after one such serve only just misses his ear. Osamu throws a smirk over his shoulder at Suna, who just rolls his eyes.)  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Suna enters the Miya household after pulling off his shoes, and Osamu points him into the living room, where the low table they’ll be using for homework and study is already covered with what looks like half the pantry. Suna snickers; Osamu remembers he’d forgotten to pinch Atsumu’s Jagabee chips, and hurries back into the kitchen.  
  
Atsumu’s away at the All-Japan Youth training camp, and Osamu hasn’t stopped sighing in relief at how much quieter it is at home, and how easier it is for him to eat his puddings and other snacks in peace. He’d invited their friends over for a study session over the weekend, but Ginjima and Kosaku hadn’t been able to make it, so it was just Suna and Osamu.  
  
As Suna relocates some of the snacks onto the floor so they actually have room for their study materials, Osamu reappears with the chips, looking pleased with himself. Suna starts laughing.  
  
“Won’t he just make you buy more for him?”  
  
“He can try.”  
  
Osamu drops the packet with the rest of the snacks, and he and Suna begin opening their textbooks and notebooks. Suna helps himself to a bag of rice crackers (“Those are also Atsumu’s, so we have to finish them all off,” he is told), and Osamu pulls out his phone. A playlist of instrumental Nujabes and DJ Okawari songs soon begin playing; Osamu had confessed a while ago that he finds it hard to focus on homework when he listens to songs with too many lyrics.  
  
But even with the non-lyrical music, the two chat and fool around more than they actually work, but this happens often enough that it isn’t surprising. Osamu takes a number of photos of their slowly disappearing snacks and sends them to Atsumu, who replies with furious messages of protest during his break. Suna gets through just two maths questions before he and Osamu begin discussing the upcoming Nationals tournament.  
  
It’s nice, sharing an unhurried afternoon like this. Usually, they’re joined by other friends or Atsumu, and together as a group, they really don’t know the meaning of _quiet_ , so this is nice and mellow. Suna usually operates on a similar level of mischief as Atsumu, but Osamu’s not exactly an angel, either, and two of them balance and match each other’s teasing and soft banter word-for-word with ease.  
  
He likes how relaxed Osamu looks, Suna catches himself thinking every now and then. He still looks as deadpan as he usually does, but he’s smiling a little bit more, and that familiar warm feeling Suna remembers from their training camp fills his chest again. It’s a cool day; he can’t blame it on the weather this time.  
  
They fall into silence for a while, actually doing work now. Suna sneaks the occasional quick glance at Osamu, watching the way his fingers bunch up tight around his pencil like a fist, a bad habit he can’t get rid of; the way he holds his fringe out of his eyes with his thumb; the way he mouths the words of his textbook silently.  
  
He’s really beautiful, isn’t he?  
  
Suna’s pulse quickens at the thought, double-quick when Osamu looks up and catches him staring.  
  
“What?” he says.  
  
“I’m just… wondering how I can convince you to give me one of your pudding cups,” says Suna, silently congratulating himself on his smooth answer. “What price I’d have to pay… like, do you want one of my kidneys, or…”  
  
Osamu snorts. “You can have all of Atsumu’s Jagabee chips if you don’t touch the pudding.”  
  
“I guess that’s okay.”  
  
They grin at each other, and resume their work. Suna makes no move for the snacks, and tries not to sneak any more looks at him.  
  
A few minutes later, DJ Okawari’s _Luv Letter_ starts playing from Osamu’s phone, and Osamu throws down his pencil.  
  
“I’m taking a nap,” he declares, and he promptly flops onto his back on the floor and closes his eyes.  
  
“We’ve barely done any work, Osamu.”  
  
“Speak for yourself.”  
  
“I’ll steal your pudding.”  
  
“I’ll take both your kidneys.”  
  
Suna dissolves into snickering, but lets him be. As Osamu’s smile fades with a comfortable sigh, Suna reaches over for his phone and turns down the music’s volume a little, and soon enough, Osamu’s breathing becomes deep and even with sleep. With his fringe lying casually over his eyes and his hands spread loosely over his stomach, he looks more peaceful than Suna can ever remember seeing him. Suna quietly puts his pencil down and leans onto the tabletop, pillowing his head against his folded arms, and feeling just so, so warm as he gazes down at Osamu for just a little longer.  
  
But there’s also an odd pang in his chest, accompanied by a tiny, familiar urge that wants to poke Osamu awake and ask him, _what makes you happy, what makes you laugh, what lets you fall asleep so comfortably like this, how can I give all that to you?_  
   
This is new to Suna. He’s rarely ever been the shy type, but for all their banter and familiarity, this is new territory to him, and he’s not sure what to do from here—or, indeed, whether he should be doing anything at all.  
  
Maybe this is okay, just letting things be as they are. Maybe he—      
  
The front door opens, and Suna raises his head. There’s footsteps, a clatter of keys, and then Osamu’s mother pokes her head through the living room door.  
  
“Oh, hello Suna-kun!” she says with a smile, before glancing at her sleeping son.  
  
“Hi Miya-san,” says Suna. “I’ll wake him up—”  
  
“Oh, no, no, don’t wake him up, it’s all right. Let him sleep.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
Osamu’s mother nods a little ruefully. “It’s nice seeing him sleep like this, actually. You see, when they were younger, Osamu took a nap here in the living room, and Atsumu drew on his face with marker. Since then, Osamu hasn’t taken a nap around the house outside of sleeping hours. So this is nice—that he’s comfortable enough around you and trusts you enough to do so. You’ve got a very reassuring presence, you know, Suna-kun.”  
  
Suna has been told he is many things, but _reassuring_ is… not one of them. And, out of all his friends, he’s pretty sure that he’d be one of the _last_ people they would trust not to draw on their faces.  
  
So…  
  
He makes a distressed noise in his throat that’s half-laugh and half-whimper, but Osamu’s mother doesn’t seem to think anything of it.  
  
“Would you like to stay for dinner, Suna-kun?”  
  
“N—th—uh… that’s really kind of you, but I promised my parents I’d be home to eat.”  
  
Osamu’s mother smiles and nods understandingly. “All right. Give them my regards, won’t you?”  
  
“Thank you very much.”  
  
She leaves the room. Suna lets out a long, soft exhale, trying to take in this… new information.  
  
She’s probably exaggerating. Being nice. Or something. She’s definitely wrong. Definitely. It’s not as if Suna’s the only one Osamu trusts and feels comfortable around; if it were Ginjima or Kosaku here, Osamu would simply fall asleep in their company too, for sure.  
  
Right?  
  
Right. Of course he would.  
  
Suna jams the knuckles of his thumbs against his eye and gives a soft groan. Nope, he was overthinking things. Osamu’s mother was just being nice.  
  
Osamu mumbles incoherently and turns his head a little so he’s facing away from Suna. Suna leans his elbows on the tabletop and rests his cheek in his hand with a little sigh. It’s not like he was thinking of teasing Osamu when his guard was down like this, but after his mother said all that, it put a slightly different perspective on things. Now, it feels almost like Suna is guarding him, making sure he is resting.  
  
The way a fox guards a shrine, Suna supposes. He smiles into his hand. That familiar warmth blooms in his chest again, and— _dammit_ , this is _ridiculous_.  
  
He reaches over and prods Osamu’s shoulder with his pencil.  
  
“ _Hrrmmggnhh_ …”  
  
“Wake up.”  
  
Osamu opens his eyes a little, blinks around blearily, and then closes them again with a sigh, as if trying to go back to sleep.  
  
“Wake up, or I’ll eat your homework.”  
  
“What the _hell_ , Suna.”  
  
Suna huffs a laugh, and Osamu does too after a moment. He rubs his eyes and yawns, before opening his eyes again and looking up at him. There’s a sort of fondness in his expression that Suna can’t explain, but he thinks that if they could do this again—if Osamu could be comfortable enough to fall asleep in Suna’s company, and then wake up and look at him like that again—then he might give quite a bit to let it happen.  
  
“Your mother’s home,” Suna says.  
  
“Oh.” Osamu blinks. “Right. What time is it?”  
  
“Nearly half-past four.”  
  
“Did you want to stay for dinner?”  
  
“Nah, I told my parents I’d be home. I should, um, probably start heading back, actually; it’s getting dark.”  
  
Osamu pushes himself upright and says, “We’ve barely done any work.”  
  
Suna grins. “Speak for yourself. You napped, slacker.”  
  
“ _Ugh_.”  
  
They carry all the unfinished and unopened snacks back into the pantry. Osamu’s mother looks out from the dining room and laughs and shakes her head at them.  
  
“Tell Atsumu I said hi,” says Suna once he’s slipped his shoes on and is standing outside with his bag. Osamu leans against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets, almost the definition of casual elegance, and rolls his eyes.  
  
“It’s not like you can’t tell him yourself. Anyway, he’ll be back the day after tomorrow. ”  
  
“Tell him the rice crackers were delicious.”  
  
Osamu smirks. “That, I can do.”  
  
It’s unfair, Suna thinks as he turns and begins to walk home, how good that looks on him. He tucks his face into the collar of his jacket, very glad that Osamu can’t see him right now, because he’s probably embarrassingly pink in the face, and—  
  
_Shit_ , he really is beautiful, isn’t he?  
  
Suna goes off on an aimless walk, trying—and failing very badly—to clear his head. The cool weather doesn’t help with the problem of his warm face. Briefly, he considers heading to a convenience store to get himself an ice cream, before remembering he hadn’t brought any money with him. With a sigh, he goes home, and manages to do some more homework before dinner. It’s a little easier to concentrate now that he’s not in Osamu’s distracting company, and better still when his mother calls him to eat.  
  
(He has _Luv Letter_ stuck in his head for the rest of the night.)  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
A bunch of the second years from the volleyball club are sitting around outside the gymnasium and chatting amongst themselves, having just finished training for the day. Atsumu had declared an after-practice second-years team-bonding dinner for no special reason other than _he particularly felt like ramen_ , but was caught up discussing some tactics with the coaching staff.  
  
Suna is sitting on the lower steps of the stairs leading up to the gymnasium’s second level, and listening to Kosaku telling them a story involving his cousin, a broken DVD player, twelve dogs, and seven pieces of pasta—except he really isn’t listening, though he’s trying his damn best to. Osamu is sitting beside Suna and dozing off with his head resting onto his shoulder, and it takes Suna every ounce of willpower he has to keep an indifferent façade, and to not suddenly shove him away purely out of nerves. The others seem utterly unconcerned, and Suna is kind of jealous.  
  
Osamu is warm. Suna doesn’t dare look at him, doesn’t dare to move, almost doesn’t dare to breathe. When he tunes in just enough to laugh with the others at Kosaku’s story, Osamu stirs and mumbles incoherently, before sighing and easing against Suna once more.  
  
“Sorry, I’m late!” Atsumu voice rings, and they look up at him, jogging towards them with an apologetic grin. “I was just telling the coach about some stuff I wanna try at next practice, in case I forgot. Anyway, let’s go!”  
  
“We thought about charging you a bowl of ramen for every minute you kept us waiting,” Ginjima jokes, “but then, we’d all end up over-eating, and that’s no fun.”  
  
“ _Gin_ , I _trusted_ you! I thought you were the only good guy here!” says Atsumu, mock-scandalised. As the others stretch and gather their bags and belongings, Atsumu turns and kicks his brother’s foot. “Oi, ‘Samu, wake up. Let’s go.”  
  
Osamu just mumbles wordlessly into Suna’s shoulder and twitches his foot away.  
  
“‘ _Samu_.”  
  
“Mmggh…”  
  
“You can just move away, you know, Suna.”  
  
“Go away, ‘Tsumu,” says Osamu, a little too quietly for anyone other than Suna to hear.  
  
“You guys can go ahead,” Suna tells the others, actually half-hoping they won’t. “We’ll catch up.”  
  
Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Don’t _spoil_ him.”  
  
“This is why Aunt Minako likes me better,” Osamu mumbles, and Suna huffs a laugh.  
  
“What did he say?” Atsumu demands with a suspicious glare as Osamu pushes himself off Suna’s shoulder, yawning.  
  
“Don’t tell him, Suna.”  
  
“ _Suna_.”  
  
They stand and shoulder their bags, and Osamu adds, “Suna, I’ll buy you extra slices of pork for your silence.”  
  
“Don’t corrupt him with your bribery, you _heathen_ ,” says Atsumu. “Suna, I’ll buy you a ramen upgrade.”  
  
“Keep me out of your family feuds,” says Suna, but he’s grinning, feeling much more at ease amongst the bantering. His arm and shoulder that Osamu had been leaning on still feels tingly, but he can hide his internal freak-out better now. They begin walking, the twins flanking him on either side and bickering around him. Their friends throw smirks at Suna over their shoulders, but don’t make any attempts to rescue him. Assholes.  
  
At the restaurant, Suna, still a little jittery, moves to sit as far away from Osamu as he can, but the moment he puts his bag down, Osamu takes the seat beside him without another word, and Suna’s stuck. Atsumu watches them like a hawk, just in case Osamu really does try to treat Suna to extra ramen toppings, but ultimately, neither of them attempt to bribe him.  
  
Suna doesn’t speak much during dinner, instead intently focusing on his food, because he doesn’t quite trust himself not to sneak glances at Osamu again. Osamu doesn’t speak much either, but that’s normal during mealtimes because he’s usually either swept in the bliss of delicious meals, or keen to finish before Atsumu tries to steal any of his food, or a mix of the two.  
  
Unfortunately, this means that they both finish their ramen before everyone else does, and have nothing to occupy themselves with, and _that_ means that Osamu shuffles his chair over so he can rest his head on Suna’s shoulder again.  
  
“Oi, have you been sleeping properly?” Atsumu demands, waving his chopsticks at him. “You need to be fully functioning for our next match, you know!”  
  
“You’re so noisy,” says Osamu sleepily. “I’m tired because I practised way more jump serves than you today.”  
  
“You did _not_.”  
  
“Actually, he did,” Ginjima pipes up. “You were helping me with receives most of the time, Atsumu. Remember?”  
  
“Not for _that_ long. Okay, next time we have to keep a record, I swear we always have this problem.”  
  
“Nope, it’s just you,” says Suna, because he’s going to implode if he doesn’t maintain _some_ measure of composure, given his current predicament.  
  
“ _Back me up, you jackass!_ ”  
  
“Suna’s comfortable, shut up,” says Osamu, closing his eyes. “You have three seconds to eat your egg, or I’m stealing it.”  
  
Atsumu scarfs it down, glaring at him.  
  
They then all get into a debate over when is the best time to eat an egg with ramen: whether to eat it right at the start, somewhere in the middle, or to save it for last. That in turn leads to a discussion over their favourite ways to eat eggs in general, and Suna feels himself drifting off. It’s not that it’s boring—somehow, his friends make this sort of talk interesting, and he doesn’t fully understand it—but he’s full of food, he’s starting to crash from having to keep up his indifference for this long, Osamu’s weight is warm, training had been intense as usual, and…  
  
“Can’t you turn the shutter sound off, Gin?”  
  
“Sorry, I forgot.”  
  
“Shh, you’ll wake them.”  
  
“Aw, that’s adorable, make sure you send it to the third years.”  
  
“Send me one too.”  
  
Suna eyes snap open to see all the others hovering opposite him; Ginjima and Atsumu are holding their phones out, and are very clearly taking photos. Everyone jumps back when Suna wakes, and Ginjima yelps in surprise and almost drops his phone into his empty bowl.  
  
“What the _fuck_ are you all—”  
  
Beside him, Osamu stirs and groans in protest. “Wass’happen—?”  
  
“Apparently, Suna’s secret skill,” says Atsumu, beaming, “is falling asleep whilst sitting upright. Look at this photo, you’re both so _cute!_ I’m sending this to the third years.”  
  
“You’re all _assholes_ ,” says Suna. Osamu throws a crumpled serviette in their friends’ general direction, but they just start laughing.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
It continues on—this closeness that toes the line of what’s normal for Suna and Osamu. Osamu seems to have gotten used to using Suna as a pillow, having slept on his shoulder a few more times since the ramen dinner, and Suna gets used to this too, and never pushes him away because he never has a real good reason to. He comes to really _like_ the feeling of Osamu’s weight against him, if he’s being honest with himself.  
  
It’s a gradual change from their more casual moments. They would go from flicking each other’s sleeves out of boredom whilst waiting for their friends, or balancing juice boxes and wrapped snacks or bread on each other’s knees when eating lunch outside, to… whatever is happening now. It’s getting harder and harder to tell whether their little physical touches are becoming more frequent, or whether Suna’s just becoming hyper-aware of them. Osamu’s hand brushing against his arm sometimes makes Suna feel like he’s receiving little electric shocks; playful nudges or punches brings a swooping sensation to his stomach. Osamu also seems to send small smiles his way a little more often—or is Suna just imagining things? He has no idea anymore, and he’s losing track of all the times his heart rate speeds up around the beautiful boy.  
  
He thinks about his realisation from their training camp at the end of summer: that feeling of wanting to give Osamu the world if it could make him laugh like that again. At the time, it had felt like a half-promise, but if he thinks about it with a little more clarity, it had also been stupid. It’s romantic in its own bizarre way, Suna supposes, though he’s never considered himself a romantic, but ultimately, it’s fucking stupid. Suna is just an ordinary high school student—what could he do?  
  
What could he do, if he were to give Osamu the world? What did he have to give, if he were to give Osamu anything? All he had to offer was a shoulder to nap on, afternoons to spend together and share snacks, cheap juice from vending machines, a water fight he would ultimately lose—and that was it. That was all he had to give to someone who could make his heart race like this.  
  
Suna is not one to lose his nerve easily, and more often than not, he holds himself up with confidence, but now, he’s at a loss, and that is not something he’s used to—just like, he supposes, he’s not used to having a crush on someone like this. He tries to push this uncertainty away, but it clings onto him, and no matter how hard he tries, he thinks about it far more than he’d like.  
  
What makes Osamu happy? What makes him laugh? What lets him fall asleep so comfortably like he had been doing?  
  
( _How can I give all that to you?_ )  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Their physical closeness doesn’t seem to trigger any abnormal curiosity from their friends and teammates, as far as Suna can tell. If it does, they’re hiding it well. A small part of him is worried that Atsumu seems to be smirking in his direction a little more than usual, but it’s honestly hard to tell because Atsumu smirks at least seventy-five percent of the time.  
  
_Anyway_.  
  
If Suna doesn’t think about it too much, it won’t show on his face and in his actions, and he can pretend that all is fine.  
  
Except—well.  
  
They’re at volleyball training, and Suna is practising blocks with some of the other second years. He’d just stepped away to grab a towel, when he looks up over at Atsumu and Osamu on the next court, practising tosses and spikes. Near-flawlessly, Atsumu sets the ball, and Osamu runs for it, quick as usual. He jumps, back arching as he draws his powerful right arm. His hand connects with the ball, and it’s a perfect spike, his form is completely perfect, and Suna can’t take his eyes off h—  
  
“ _SUNA! HEADS UP—_ ”  
  
Suna snaps to attention, turning towards whoever’s yelling to his left, only for a volleyball to come careening into his face with all the force of a typical Inarizaki volleyball player.  
  
When he opens his eyes, vaguely noting that his cheek is throbbing like it’s trying to leave his damn head, he’s lying on the floor, and there’s someone staring down at him, semi-silhouetted against the lights of the gymnasium.  
  
“Osamu?” he mumbles.  
  
“He’s okay!” the figure says. “Suna, how do you feel? You scared us, man!”  
  
Suna blinks a few times in order to focus.  
  
“Atsumu,” he says in realisation. “Ugh.”  
  
“ _What do you mean by ‘ugh’, you shit—_ ”  
  
“Let him _breathe_ , man.” Someone else—Gin, Suna thinks with a little more clarity—seizes Atsumu by the collar and yanks him away with a yelp of protest. Kita comes into view, calm as ever, but with concern tracing his face.  
  
“Suna, how are you feeling?"  
  
“I’m fine,” Suna answers, moving to push himself up. Half his face is smarting really badly. “Just got hit, it happens all the time.”  
  
“You got hit by _Aran’s serve._ ”  
  
“Oh.” Suna blinks again. “Well, that makes sense.”  
  
“The course was off. Sorry, Suna,” comes Aran’s voice somewhere to his right.  
  
Suna notes that he’s actually surrounded by a circle of his teammates and the coaching staff. As the captains and coaches fuss over him a little more, he also vaguely notes that Osamu is kneeling down beside him. Though Suna avoids looking at him at all, he can feel the slight prickling feeling of his stare, and wonders what sort of expression Osamu has on his face right now.  
  
With a cold bottle pressed to his face, Suna sits out of practice for a few minutes while his teammates resume. Osamu, wordless, sits beside him, and Suna doesn’t ask why. That whole side of him feels hot, and he tries to tell himself that it’s just because of training and all that running around, but really, after all this time, he knows it’s far from the truth, and he thinks that now, he’s in over his head. It’s not as light as it had been previously, and he knows it’s not completely due to him getting beaned in the face because he’d been distracted.  
  
Volleyball training finishes without any more drama. The third years and the coaching staff fuss over Suna once more before he’s allowed to go and get changed, and amongst the company of his fellow second years, they fall into a welcome discussion about whose serves are more painful when hit in the face. Kosaku promises he’ll get to Aran’s level of power someday; Atsumu says that Osamu’s already pretty close when he’s at just the right levels of pissed off, to which Osamu throws a stray towel at him; Ginjima points out that Kita’s serves might actually be more dangerous because of their accuracy combined with power. Suna has no idea why their conversations are constantly so strange, but he wouldn’t swap these dumbasses for the world.  
  
They eventually split off to go home. The entire time, Suna doesn’t look in Osamu’s direction even once—he can’t bring himself to. It’s suddenly difficult. He’s tired and hasn’t had a moment to stop and figure it all out, and it probably shows on his face because his teammates just cuff him gently over the shoulder and tell him to get some rest.  
  
Osamu touches his arm, just briefly, and it feels like fire, like the warmth inside of Suna had intensified enough to become something like burning, something more unpleasant. He has to fight back the urge to recoil suddenly, because that would make no sense at all, and Osamu didn’t deserve that.  
  
When Suna finally turns in for the night and lies in his bed, he falls asleep almost right away.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
He dreams about Osamu for the first time, and frankly, Suna thinks that’s one dream too many.  
  
They’re in a theatre—Suna has no idea why because he’s not that much of a theatre person—and he is surrounded by people he doesn’t recognise, each holding scripts and talking in low murmurs. Osamu sits in the row directly in front of him, gazing at the others with the faintest of smiles on his face. The whole time, neither of them speak to each other—indeed, dream-Suna isn’t even sure that dream-Osamu knows he’s there. With a sense of something like deep _longing_ , Suna watches Osamu as though he is someone too far out of reach—a star too bright to ever hold on to, too good to ever touch. In the dream, Suna thinks that he can feel his heart breaking.  
  
He wakes up an hour and a half before his alarm is meant to go off, and for a moment, he seriously contemplates feigning illness and skipping school that day.  
  
But then his teammates might worry that Aran’s serve had actually seriously hurt him, and Aran himself would feel terrible, and then _Suna_ would feel bad for making him feel bad, because honestly, Aran is way too nice for that.  
  
And at any rate, running away from this ridiculousness would mean that Suna’s giving into it and letting it affect him, and he can’t let that happen. It’s just a silly little crush, he’d get over it, it’s just a phase, it wouldn’t mean anything…  
  
Except… he’d like it if it _did_ —  
  
Only, it _won’t_ —  
  
And he’d never forgive himself if he ruined this easiness between himself and Osamu—  
  
But—  
  
Suna rolls over to groan into his pillow. No, no, no, no, no. He’s overthinking. He’s never been good at overthinking.  
  
He can’t get back to sleep, so he distracts himself playing games on his PSP until it’s time to start getting ready for school. This loss of precious sleep is probably going to catch up to him later in the day; he isn’t sure what to do.  
  
The morning comes and goes, and Suna gets himself through surprisingly well, even if he does start nodding off in the class right before lunchtime. He doesn’t even bother with his lunch when the bell rings; he just leans forward onto his desk with a sigh and buries his head in his arms sleepily as his classmates shuffle their belongings and scrape their chairs around him.  
  
It’s pouring rain outside, which is how Suna knows his peace will be short-lived, because he knows his friends, and he knows that any minute now, they’ll—  
  
“There you are, Suna!” says Kosaku, and Suna sighs a little and raises his head to see the others wander into his classroom.  
  
“You okay, man?” Ginjima asks him as Atsumu elbows him out of the way so he can claim the desk in front of Suna’s.  
  
“Mm, just sleepy.”  
  
They all sit; Osamu pulls up a chair beside Suna’s table, and that feeling of longing from his dream returns to swell up uncomfortably in his chest. Atsumu’s got his copy of _Monthly Volleyball_ opened to a double-page spread about Tokai University’s team, and begins animatedly discussing their setter’s use of timed attacks. Osamu points out that Atsumu’s ideas of timed attacks seem to veer towards _any attack that works out well_ , which makes Kosaku snicker.  
  
The entire time, it’s hard to look at Osamu, leaning back in his chair with his elbow on Suna’s desk, a familiar _casual elegance_ Suna remembers from that afternoon at his house. Shit, he really is beautiful. Suna forces himself to pay attention Atsumu and Kosaku now discussing… something. Okay, he’s really not paying attention at all. Osamu is very, very distracting.  
  
What if Suna confessed to him?  
  
The sudden thought makes Suna stiffen. His fingers curl involuntarily, and there’s a spike of adrenaline mixed with something like fear in his chest. What if Suna pulled Osamu aside one day and told him?  
  
No. No, no, no, there was _no way in hell_ that could ever be a good idea. What they had now was a good and comfortable thing, Suna would get over Osamu soon enough, things would be back to normal—why should he destroy this easy friendship? He didn’t need to. He’s overthinking things again.  
  
Suna leans onto his desk and pillows his head again his arms again, closing his eyes. This is easier; he can avoid looking at Osamu like this. He can pretend everything is perfectly fine for a little while longer. The others don’t seem to think anything of it, and Suna is glad. Ginjima’s telling the others about a back-attack he had seen the French national team pull off on TV, and he tries to find a video on his phone. Kosaku fondly reminisces about the first time Atsumu had tried to set for a back-attack, and how disastrous that had been. Suna’s dozing off, but their voices keep pulling and pushing him between sleep and waking.  
  
After a while, he hears the sound of light slapping, and then one of the twins—Atsumu, he quickly realises—hissing, “ _Ow_ , what was that for?!”  
  
He then hears Osamu say quietly, “He lets me nap around him, so I’m returning the favour. Don’t poke him or I’ll sprain your hand.”  
  
“Jeez, you’d both nap on the damn _court_ if you weren’t in danger of getting hit,” Atsumu mumbles indignantly.  
  
“Shut it, you two,” comes Kosaku’s voice. “It’s a miracle he’s even still asleep. Atsumu, come with me to the vending machine.”  
  
“Why _me?”_  
  
“Because I want a drink, and no one trusts you not to stick things in Suna’s hair or something. Come on. Gin, you too.”  
  
“Me?”  
  
“Gin.”  
  
“Fine, fine.”  
  
To their credit, they all move slowly and gingerly so that their chairs barely scrape the floor. Osamu doesn’t make a sound at all as he remains seated, and Suna briefly wonders if maybe he has left too.  
  
He doesn’t dare open his eyes, though; he thinks he just isn’t brave enough for that. He’s in over his head. Being around Osamu by himself seems to make Suna lose more and more of his nerve with every passing day; looking at him was becoming more and more like looking directly into the sun.  
  
(Like looking at stars too bright to ever hold on to, too good to ever touch.)  
  
He wonders, if he was given a choice at all, would he have picked someone like Osamu to fall for?  
  
“Are you awake?” Osamu whispers, almost too quiet for Suna to hear. Suna doesn’t move or speak, keeping his breathing deep and even with feigned sleep. Osamu sighs a little and doesn’t say anything else, and at that sigh, for the briefest of courageous moments, Suna considers dropping his act and opening his eyes and telling him, _I’m awake, I’m right here, what did you want to talk about?_  
  
He holds firm until their friends return. Ginjima accidentally kicks Suna’s desk, and Suna has no choice but to pretend to wake up and squint at him as Ginjima hastily apologises.  
  
The look on Osamu’s face is indifference, but Suna can’t be sure—it’s too hard to look at him for too long. Suna can feel his courage slipping away again.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
It’s something of a downward spiral from there. Suna tries to avoid being in Osamu’s company by himself, but given that’s what they’re used to, it’s hard to run away without making it obvious. Sometimes, he’ll make excuses: his parents want him to have better grades so he has to go and study, or his neighbour has been dog-sitting recently and the dog keeps barking at night which keeps him up and that’s why he’s so tired and he’s sorry he can’t hang out for too long, or something equally flimsy. His friends tease him good-naturedly for it, and Osamu seems to find no problem with it all, as far as Suna can tell.  
  
But whatever defences Suna tries putting up crumbles easily like his flimsy excuses. It simply takes a small smile from Osamu, a comfortable lean against his shoulder, or a beautiful spike or a set just for Suna during volleyball training, and Suna remembers just why he wants so badly to give Osamu so much more than he can offer, and that, in turn, reminds him that he has nothing.  
  
Suna’s walking down a corridor at school one afternoon after speaking to his English teacher about his mediocre essay grade, when he’s about to pass Osamu’s classroom, and despite everything, he looks in.  
  
Osamu is there, sitting at his desk, probably waiting for Atsumu, whom Suna recalls had to stay back a little for something. The afternoon sun streams through the windows even though it had been a cold day, and he looks relaxed with earphones in his ears and phone in his hand. Suna is reminded of that afternoon at his house, listening to Nujabes and DJ Okawari and sharing snacks, and there’s that familiar warm feeling, almost friendly if he doesn’t dwell on it too much. He etches this new memory in his mind, not daring to stay for long.  
  
He turns and leaves, taking just one step, when—  
  
“Suna?”  
  
He almost stops, almost doubles back, almost allows himself the mistake of walking over and sitting with Osamu until they have to go, and undoubtedly falling a little more in love somehow. Suna is more than happy to let him think he’d simply mistaken him for someone else; it’s easier this way.  
  
Except—  
  
Except he doesn’t walk away, instead giving in to that warmth like a moth to flame. Considering all his efforts in avoiding Osamu over the past couple of days, he doesn’t know why he doubles back and peers into the room again, but that’s what he does. Osamu’s looking his way, pulling out his earphones when he sees him.  
  
“Hey,” says Osamu.  
  
“Hey,” says Suna. Something in his chest clenches a little. He leans against the doorframe, so he doesn’t have to move any closer. “Atsumu’s still not done yet?”  
  
“No idea. He could’ve gone home already for all I know, but then, I’d kick his ass, so…” Osamu shrugs. “Why are you still here?”  
  
“I had to see Yoshikawa-sensei about my essay. We’re done, though, so I’m just gonna…” Suna gestures vaguely over his shoulder with his thumb. It’s getting hard to look at Osamu again. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorr—”  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
“I—what?”  
  
It’s hard to read the expression on Osamu’s face; harder still to read the tone in his voice. Suna’s heart is pounding uncomfortably.  
  
“Am I… not meant to be okay?” he says lightly. “Do I look like shit, is that what you’re implying?”  
  
If it were any other day, Osamu might’ve scoffed and thrown back some sarcasm at him, but today, he holds Suna in place with his steady gaze, without a response. Suna thinks of that time Osamu had touched his arm and it had felt like burning.  
  
“Get some rest, okay?” says Osamu, quiet. Suna, not realising he had been holding his breath, exhales.  
  
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
“See you.”  
  
Suna leaves, keeping his footsteps even as he walks down the corridor.  
  
He breaks into a sprint as soon as he’s out of earshot, not slowing down until he reaches home.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They carry on like this for a little while longer, and Suna thinks he’s out of the woods. He almost gets good at giving flimsy excuses for avoiding Osamu’s company by himself, almost gets used to his heart rate speeding up around him—almost doesn’t ask himself when he’ll get over this stupid crush on him. He’s working on that part.  
  
It’s Saturday morning, and Suna arrives early to volleyball training for no good reason other than feeling restless sitting around at home. Kita’s already at the gymnasium as usual, and Suna vaguely wonders if he actually lives there, or whether he might actually have powers of teleportation, because, well, _fox spirits…_  
  
It’s too early in the morning for this.  
  
Kita, setting up the nets, asks Suna to retrieve some more old training bibs from the storeroom at the back of the locker room because some of their newer ones still haven’t dried from washing. Suna obliges, poking around through the dust and squinting in the dimness thanks to the lights not working, until he spots a box high up on one of the shelves with ‘BIBS’ upside-down and written in smudged marker, and reaches for them.  
  
“—avoiding me, but I really can’t think what I did wrong.”  
  
He freezes at the sound of the Miya twins entering the locker room to drop off their bags and get changed into their training uniforms.  
  
“Why don’t you try talking to him?” comes Atsumu’s voice over his jacket unzipping. It takes Suna a moment to tell them apart, but he’s known them long enough to figure out the tiny differences.  
  
“I just _said_ , he’s been avoiding me,” says Osamu impatiently, and now, Suna feels his heart sinking as he clings onto the faintest of chances they aren’t talking about him. “And when we do talk, he doesn’t look me in the eye anymore, and it always feels like… like he doesn’t want to be there.”  
  
“Do you want me to stage an intervention?”  
  
“You are literally the _last_ person I want staging any interventions.”  
  
“So why are you telling me this?!”  
  
“It’s just…” Osamu trails off. Suna can picture him now, with his mouth twisting a little, like it does whenever he’s unhappy about something. “I don’t know, I guess I was hoping he had said something to you.”  
  
“He hasn’t said anything,” says Atsumu slowly. “But, I mean… I’m _pretty sure_ he’s not mad at you.”  
  
“How do you know that?”  
  
“You haven’t notice th… how are you my brother?”  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“It’s… well… look, next time you manage to grab him, maybe you could bring it up with him? I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”  
  
“I always forget how much you lack finesse.”  
  
“What’s _finesse_ got to do with this?!”  
  
There’s a pause. Suna holds his breath.  
  
“That’s true,” says Osamu.  
  
“Did you just… _agree_ with me?”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Get back here! I need to record this momen—‘ _Samu! Come back!_ ”  
  
There’s heavy footsteps, and the twins rocket out of the room, before—  
  
“ _Oof_ —”  
  
“ _Shi_ —oh, sorry Aran—”  
  
By the sounds of it, they had collided with Aran, who had just arrived. More voices quickly fill up the locker room, there’s laughter and yelling and joking, and Suna can’t hear the twins anymore.  
  
He breathes out slowly and counts to ten in his head, and then retrieves the dusty old box with the bibs and emerges from the storeroom to yelps of surprise from those closest to him, which quickly turns into good-natured bickering and jostling. He manages to talk Kosaku into bringing the box into the gymnasium for him while he goes to wash his hands.  
  
The cold water feels good against his skin. Suna cups it into his hands and splashes his face with it.  
  
He’s not really sure what he’s feeling. There’s a sort of disconnect, almost a numbness, but he also feels backed into a corner. Surely, this wasn’t a normal part of having a crush on someone?  
  
He had drawn it out for too long. He should’ve dealt with it much earlier, back when it was a small thing and easier to manage, and he hadn’t been overthinking it. Now, it clawed at his chest like something fierce, giving him fear where there shouldn’t have been fear. It was just Osamu—they knew each other well enough that Suna knew he really didn’t have anything to be scared of, if it were for any other situation.  
  
But the thought of Osamu cornering him and asking him properly what was wrong fills Suna with an intense newfound dread, and—  
  
No, no, no. Suna splashes his face with water again. He’s overthinking for the thousandth time. He does not need any more of this—what he needs now is a distraction. He needs to throw himself into volleyball training, to build up energy and then work it off in a sweat. There was enough movement and rotating through different drills that he wouldn’t have to work with Osamu for too long at a time. Volleyball plays were more or less instantaneous, after all. That worked for him.  
  
He takes a deep breath, and leaves to join the others. Almost all the members are present, as usual, and Suna quickly moves to warm up with them. The coaching staff leads everyone into receiving practice, and Kita and Aran split everyone up into groups.  
  
Suna is in a different group to Osamu, and he can breathe easier just for a moment. But they’ll stand next to each other soon enough for one of the upcoming drills, and Suna will feel like burning in his light again. He doubts that Osamu will confront him today, but if—when—it happens, it’ll always be far too soon.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
School comes and goes the next day. Things are as normal as they can be, but Suna feels jumpy whenever he sees Osamu nearby, and twice, he changes his walking direction so he can avoid him altogether. Both times, Osamu’s looking at his phone, so Suna holds onto the chance that he hasn’t seen him.  
  
It’s a mess. He hates everything about it.  
  
He’s walking home after school, just a little out of the vicinity, when he hears footsteps behind him, and—  
  
“Suna.”  
  
He thinks his heart might have stopped at the sound of Osamu’s voice, and that intense dread he had felt before volleyball practice rushes back to him. He keeps walking, feeling as though he’ll forget how to breathe if he doesn’t, and he hates himself for it, because Osamu deserves better than this, and Suna had thought that he could give him better than this.  
  
“ _Suna_.”  
  
Osamu’s footsteps quicken, and Suna—  
  
He panics and breaks into a sprint. Right on his heels, Osamu rockets off after him.  
  
Suna is faster, and he eventually loses Osamu somewhere in the neighbourhood’s more unfamiliar roads. He stops by one of the corners and drops his bag to the ground, rubbing his clammy palms against his pants restlessly and trying to steady his breathing.  
  
He fucked up. _He fucked up_. There was no way he could make it right anymore; he had blown every chance given to him. All his talk of _giving Osamu the world_ , and this was what he ended up with instead. _He fucked up_. How was he going to—  
  
He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t hear footsteps round the corner. The next two seconds are a blur: Suna is grabbed by the shirtfront, and he knows right away that it’s Osamu, because he knows Osamu—because he knows what he sounds like, what he feels like, what he looks like from the corners of his eyes; because he’s dreamt him, he’s fallen in love with him over and over again since the middle of summer, and he’s always, always been afraid of this moment.  
  
Suna can’t look him in the eye, even when they’re face-to-face. Panically, he yanks at Osamu’s wrists in a vain attempt to pull them away, but Osamu holds onto him like it’d take all the force of the sky splitting to let go.  
  
“ _Why are you running away?_ ” Osamu shouts. He rarely ever raises his voice like this outside of volleyball and if he's not yelling at Atsumu, so this surprises Suna, but what makes him finally falter is the _plea_ in his tone, and the sound of what he thinks might be something like _heartbreak_ , like something familiar Suna’s felt in a dream. “What the _fuck_ are you running away from?”  
  
Suna remembers the sunlit afternoon at the Miya household and Osamu sleeping peacefully on the floor beside him, and thinks that if he could exchange that moment for an answer that could get him out of trouble, he would, in a heartbeat. His words are failing him; his usually carefree demeanour, his habit of not taking things too seriously—everything that was _okay_ previously, is not okay now, and he has nothing else.  
  
In his silence, Osamu bows his head, still trying to catch his breath, and when he mumbles, “Can you at least tell me what I did wrong?”, it’s these words that finally hit Suna.  
  
He had been selfish, he realises. He is _being_ selfish, changing so many things that had been so good about the two of them: avoiding Osamu and thinking he wouldn’t notice; overthinking things and being on edge around him, instead of being his apparently relaxing and reassuring self; trying to push him away—literally _running away_ from him; causing Osamu to think _he_ was the one who had fucked up somewhere. If their roles had been reversed, and Osamu was avoiding Suna, wouldn’t that just break Suna’s heart?  
  
When was the last time Osamu had fallen asleep around him? When was the last time they’d spent a quiet, mellow moment together and shared some easy banter?  
   
When had he begun unknowingly hurting Osamu?  
  
Suna takes his hands away and lets them fall by his sides. Osamu raises his head uncertainly.  
  
“I’m sorry,” says Suna. It’s the heaviest apology he’s ever uttered, and he still doesn’t dare look at him as the words tumble from his mouth. “I’m sorry. I really like you.”  
  
Because Osamu deserves this—he deserves Suna’s honesty, more than he’ll ever deserve Suna’s cowardice. And Suna can’t give him the world like he’d hoped he would, but he can give him this much at the very least, like the most meagre of offerings to gods and shrines, to stars too bright and too good to hold onto.  
  
Osamu’s grip on Suna’s shirtfront loosens.  
  
“Okay,” he says in a breath, and there is so much relief in his voice that Suna almost looks at him. “Okay,” he says again.  
  
And then, he pulls Suna close, and kisses him.  
  
The world stops for a moment. There’s complete silence, stillness, like suddenly, it’s just the two of them, and everything else pauses for a while to let this happen. It feels a little like forgiveness, somehow, like time itself has forgiven Suna for all the trouble he’s caused, and is allowing him this one chance to fix things.  
  
He takes it, grabs it like a lifeline.  
  
Suna presses his hands to Osamu’s face and kisses him back, and when he feels Osamu relax against him, it finally, finally feels _right_. He makes a silent promise that at some point, he’ll make it up to him—he thinks that this might be a promise he can actually keep this time.  
  
When they pull away after what feels like an age, Suna’s senses come flooding back to him in a dizzying roar. They let go of each other, and Osamu rocks back on his heels like he knows Suna won’t run away anymore, but they’re still so, so close. Now, Suna can’t take his eyes off him.  
  
“You _know_ me, Suna,” says Osamu quietly. “We’re not strangers. But I feel like I haven’t seen you for a while.”  
  
They aren’t strangers. _They aren’t strangers._ Osamu is just a boy—neither a god nor a star out of reach, nor someone who needed the world given to him. He’s just a boy who likes snacks and sweets and the occasional nap in comfortable company; who appreciated an orange juice when he’s feeling cranky, and could make Suna’s heart skip a beat; who was deadpan and snarky by default, but could also laugh in a way that made Suna feel warm. _They aren’t strangers_. It wasn’t agod nor star that Suna had fallen in love with in the first place, but somewhere along the line, he had lost sight of that.  
  
Suna exhales softly, and with his breath, all the tension in his shoulders leave him. His heart feels so much lighter. Osamu is here— _he_ is the one reaching out to Suna, and Suna is not dreaming. He is meeting Osamu’s eyes for the first time in what feels like forever, without fear, without that need to push him away and run, without that urge to lie to him.  
  
“Yeah,” Suna says. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”  
  
“I’m not mad. I’m…” Osamu trails off and gives a helpless shrug. “I just need you to stop running; it’s not like you, and I’m not used to it. I just want you to be _you_ again. That’s all I need. I miss just… hanging out with you.”  
  
It feels like forgiveness. It feels like answers to questions Suna has bottled up: _what makes you happy, what makes you laugh, what lets you fall asleep next to—_  
  
“When you—” Suna’s words catch in his throat, but he’s fallen too far to push away again now. “When you fall asleep around me, is it…”  
  
_—how can I give all that to you?_  
  
“I like it,” says Osamu, quiet again. “I always feel the most relaxed when I’m with you, no matter what we’re doing. So… I want to do it again, if that’s okay. Fall asleep around you, I mean.”  
  
A shoulder to rest on; a quiet afternoon together with snacks and mellow music; an orange juice for a long day; maybe even a water fight—Suna could give these to him.  
  
“It’s definitely okay,” says Suna. And then: “I promise, I won’t even steal your pudding when you’re asleep.”  
  
For a moment, Osamu looks surprised, before giving a huff of laughter, and it feels a little closer to normal now. Because he—both of them—deserves this. They deserve this normality, this falling back into comfortable territory, this recognisable ease of banter, of conversation between two people who know each other well. He deserves Suna trying to make things right again. “I might even let you have one. As long as you don’t give it to 'Tsumu.”  
  
“It’ll be my treasure, so no, he can’t have it.”  
  
“Good. I’m counting on you.”  
  
Suna nods in mock-seriousness, and Osamu snickers. But before Suna can allow himself to get lost in the beautiful boy’s smile for the nth time, he has to know—  
  
“Just now, that was…” He gestures to the space between two of them.  
  
“Oh.” Osamu looks away and Suna raises his eyebrows in surprise when he sees the tips of his ears go pink. “I mean… it was kind of spur-of-the-moment, but I’m not… I mean, it—I don’t—I don’t regret it at all. So…”  
  
Suna snorts. Welcome laughter bubbles up inside his chest, and he finds he can’t stop smiling. When Osamu looks at him again, his face softens into a familiar fondness, a familiar warmth, a familiar reason for Suna falling head over heels in the first place, and he thinks that Osamu’s right—they really haven’t seen each other for a while.  
  
“You can just say it was nice, dumbass,” Suna says.  
  
“Hm.” Osamu pauses, thinks, and then scratches the back of his neck and shrugs. “Yeah, okay, it was pretty nice.”  
  
“Don’t force yourself.” But Suna knows it’s okay.  
  
Osamu gives him a mock-unimpressed look. “Me? Force myself? Who do you think you’re talking to? Do I have to kiss you again?”  
  
There’s a flutter in Suna’s stomach; he can’t help it. “You might have to,” he says casually. “You know, just to be sure.”  
  
A smile flickers across Osamu’s face as he closes that already-small distance between them with a tiny step, and takes Suna’s shirtfront in his hands again, gently this time. “Sure of what?” he says in a murmur, and Suna’s heart races.  
  
“Sure of… of…” He forgets what he was going to say when Osamu pulls him close and kisses him again.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Volleyball training has just finished for the day, and the second-years are loitering outside the gymnasium; Atsumu had declared another team-bonding dinner, because apparently, he’d been craving okonomiyaki all week (“You know I'll eat anything, so I'm not fussy; he’s the one who won’t shut up about it at home,” Osamu had said, deadpan), but had been held back again because he’d spilt his water bottle all over the floor, and had to mop it up under Kita’s steely, watchful eye.  
  
Suna is sitting on the lower steps of the stairs leading up to the gymnasium’s second level, listening to the others debate about the gameplay of the latest _Final Fantasy_ game, and how it compared to older versions. Osamu is sleeping on his shoulder again, with one arm hooked loosely around Suna’s; everyone’s used to it, by now. Osamu is warm and comfortable, and Suna is careful to keep his laughs quiet, so he can let him sleep.  
  
“Sorry, thanks for waiting!” Atsumu calls out as he jogs towards them. “I got the cleaning done.”  
  
“How did Kita-san rate it?” Ginjima asks as they begin shoulder their bags.  
  
Atsumu winces. “Well… he didn’t. I managed to _sort of_ do it right in the end, but he _sort of_ gave up on me, so… _anyway_ , let’s go. I’m hungry!” He looks down at his sleeping brother resting on Suna’s shoulder. When Suna looks up and glares at him, Atsumu just smirks widely and says, “We’ll go on ahead.”  
  
“Take your time, you two,” Ginjima adds, snickering.  
  
“Feel free to eat somewhere else without us,” says Kosaku in a sing-song voice, already walking away.  
  
“You’re all assholes,” says Suna, keeping his voice quiet enough that he doesn’t wake Osamu. This only serves to crack their friends up though, and as they begin walking away, Ginjima and Atsumu use their arms to make a large heart shape together whilst shooting Suna devious grins. Suna thinks that Osamu might be onto something when he aims all his serves at Atsumu during practice; he’ll give that a try next time.  
  
For now, he’ll enjoy this moment of quiet in Osamu’s company, with just the two of them. He’ll never give their friends the satisfaction of knowing this, though. Well, they probably knew already, but _still._  
  
After a minute or two, Osamu stirs.  
  
“Where is everyone?” he mumbles, raising his head and looking around, rubbing his eye with a yawn.  
  
“They went on ahead,” Suna answers. “Told us to take our time.”  
  
“They just left us here? We have terrible friends.”  
  
“We really do. Do you want to go join them?”  
  
“Mm…” Osamu slouches to rest his head on Suna’s shoulder again. “In a bit, maybe.”  
  
Suna leans his head against Osamu’s. “Okay,” he says. “Let me know when.”  
  
Osamu just mumbles wordlessly and curls his free hand around Suna’s wrist, sighing comfortably. Suna smiles. They’d probably be here for a while.  
  
And that suited them both just fine.  
  
  


* * *

  


**Author's Note:**

> Now playing ♪ _A Day By Atmosphere Supreme _by Nujabes__


End file.
